The Coldest Sleep
by Twistedsystem009
Summary: Melantha made a mistake - a terrible, terrible mistake that led to the greatest opportunity of her life. (I know I'm bad at descriptions. Rated T mostly for language and violence).
1. Chapter 1 The First Edition

THE COLDEST SLEEP

CHAPTER ONE

THE FIRST EDITION

* * *

A young Imperial walked briskly down the empty streets of Cyrodiil City. It was pouring rain from the grey sky overhead. She was keeping as close to the walls of the surrounding buildings as she could, desperate to stay dry under the awnings.

On the other side of the road, a boy was slumped against the stones, staring wistfully at the stacks of soaked papers by his feet. The young woman noticed him and stopped, worrying the skin of her lower lip between her teeth while she had a mental debate with herself.

"Sir!"

The Imperial began to run to the other side of the street, one hand on the strap of her shoulder-bag and the other raised above her head to catch the boy's attention. He looked up, glancing around. Surely she wasn't addressing _him_?

"I'll buy a paper." the young woman panted, pushing soaked strands of dark hair out of her eyes. "I'll buy a stack." She reached into her coat pocket and fished out a leather coinpurse. "Here you go, lad. I do believe that's forty-five septims, correct? Right. Thank you,"

The woman walked away with a bundle of soaked parchment held tightly to her chest. Its binding was beginning to tear, and the ink was smeared all over the pages. Finally, she reached a little shop with a wooden sign hanging above the door that read _First Edition_. She shifted the papers under her arm and wiped fog away from the window, then pulled back on the brass knocker and rapped thrice.

An old man with half-moon glasses and a white beard answered. He peered up at the young woman for a moment, before smiling and saying, "Ah, Melantha! Enter, enter, my dear."

Melantha brushed past the old man as she entered, placing the sopping papers on a table and shedding her bag and coat. She immediately set to work on boiling a pot of water for tea.

"I apologize for the mess. The shop has gotten a bit out of hand since Lysandra's passing."

Melantha took a seat in a horrid striped armchair and crossed her ankles on the matching ottoman. "Oh, I _do_ miss her so." she said with a soft sigh. "Well, all wounds heal with time, eh?"

Both of the Imperial's gazes drifted to a portrait of a sweet looking young woman with ginger hair and a wide smile hanging on the mantlepiece. In the bottommost corner to the right, the words '_Gods bless her soul, our dearest Lysandra_' were scrawled in an untidy hand.

"Let us not dwell on the past, then," Melantha said suddenly, hurrying to the fireplace. "How about a bit of tea?" The old man smiled and nodded. Melantha poured two cups and returned to her place.

"Did you ever finish that book of yours?"

Melantha's indigo eyes found her bag and her lips curved in a smile. "Not yet, but I'm close." she said. "Very close."

"That's great, dear, but I've just realized how late it's getting, and you're soaked down to the bone." the old man said. Melantha frowned. "Come, let me make you supper first."

"Oh, I'm already fat enough, my dear." he chortled, patting his protruding stomach. "Go on upstairs and get out of those clothes before you catch a cold."

Melantha trudged reluctantly up the rickety wooden stairs, one hand trailing on the dark wooden banister and the other holding her bag and coat. When she reached the top, the old man called after her, "There's an tub by the wardrobe if you want to run a bath!"

Sure enough, there was a bronze tub beside the dusty armoire in the old guest room. Melantha threw off her wet dress and boots for a nightgown before blowing out the dying candle flames and settling into the large bed pushed up against the wall.

* * *

Melantha wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep, but it seemed like seconds later when she was jolted awake.

"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer."

The twin moons were visible through the weathered pane glass windows, shining their pale light onto Melantha's slender figure tangled in the sheets. Her lids fluttered and her eyes opened. A few moments later, she registered what had woken her and bolted upright.

"That's good. You'll need a clear conscience for what I'm about to propose."

A tall, cloaked figure emerged from the shadows. Melantha could see only his pale lips beneath the hood he wore, but his baritone voice rung loud and clear through the silence.

"I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you, you are a killer. A taker of life. A harvester of souls. Your work, your deathcraft, pleases the Night Mother.

"And so, I come to you with an offering. An opportunity... to join our rather unique family."

Melantha swallowed hard, clutching the sheets so tightly that she thought she might rip them. The man's - Lucien, he had said his name was - lips curved into a wicked smile. "So, I have your rapt attention. Splendid. Now listen closely."

"On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find a man named Rufio. Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete.

"Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family."

Melantha took a shaky breath. "I - I don't know what you're talking about." she said as firmly as she could. Lucien's smile only widened. "You killed that man on the road to Skingrad. I know. I was watching."

"I'm not proud of what I've done, and I wouldn't do it again." Melantha said after a moment. She hadn't meant to kill him, only injure him to take his money... she had been desperate and stupid. His stiff, frigid body lay in a ditch on the side of the road, with a sprig of Deathbell on his chest.

"Perhaps not, but for one who's never shed blood before, you have a certain... talent that the Brotherhood simply couldn't resist."

Lucien reached into his robes and pulled out a dagger. The ebony shone in the moonlight. "Please accept this token from the Dark Brotherhood. It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well, as does your silence."

With that, the man left and Melantha was left with the dagger as a painful reminder of her mistake.

* * *

**Yes, I know that the First Edition isn't run by an old man. Shh. **

**Au revoir!**


	2. Chapter 2 Sanguine, My Brother

THE COLDEST SLEEP

CHAPTER TWO

SANGUINE, MY BROTHER

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the windows and fell on the creaky wooden floorboards. Melantha was sleeping on her side, knees pulled up to her chest and one arm under her head. The night's events came rushing back as soon as she opened her eyes.

Still feeling quite shaken, Melantha pulled on a green brocade and doeskin shoes. As she entered the parlor, the housecat Alicia purred in welcome. Melantha pressed her lips to the cat's dark coloured fur before heading downstairs.

"Good morning, Lucan."

The old man was stood behind the counter, pouring over a ledger. He looked up, startled, seeing as her footsteps were so light. "Ah, Melantha. Nearly scared me to death!" he chuckled. She smiled, and a comfortable silence fell.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut my visit short. I have business to attend to in Bravil."

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Melantha arrived in Cheydinhal. She left her horse in the stables and entered after a quick exchange with one of the guards at the gates.

The abandoned house wasn't hard to find. It looked like all of the other buildings in the city, save for the boarded up door and vines growing on the stones. It wasn't difficult to get into either; one of the windows was smashed and easy to crawl through.

A few tapestries and crates had been left behind by the previous owners. The hearth was filled with the cold embers of a fire from long ago. Melantha ignored the remnants of the only things that seemed to connect the house to reality and walked carefully down a set of crumbling stairs to the basement.

The basement was the same as the ground floor, albeit with more cobwebs. There was a large, gaping hole in the opposite wall, however, that led into complete darkness.

Melantha stepped into the hollow, feeling soft dirt beneath her boots. She groped around, her fingertips brushing the cold stones. Eventually, a dim red glow could be seen ahead. At first, Melantha thought that her eyes were playing tricks on her, but she was mistaken.

The door was curved, and carved into it was a skull with a handprint burned into its forehead, and beneath that a depiction of a woman with a baby looking down upon several figures bowing their heads in obdience.

"_What... is the colour... of night_?"

The raspy, ethereal voice made Melantha jump. She brought a hand to her mouth to muffle her cry of surprise. As she regained her composure, she managed to remember what Lucien had told her and said, "Sanguine, my Brother."

"_Welcome... home_."

* * *

**I apologize for the short chapter, but the next one will be **_**much **_**better, I promise. Also, thanks for the feedback on the last chapter. It is greatly appreciated. (:**

** Au revoir!**


	3. Chapter 3 Dear Sister

THE COLDEST SLEEP

CHAPTER THREE

DEAR SISTER

* * *

There was a quiet rapping at the door. "Enter," Vicente said without looking up from his book. He only tore his gaze from the faded ink when he heard her voice.

"Gaston Tussaud is dead."

Melantha stood in the doorway, her chest heaving. She was garbed in a frilly dress, with curls the colour of burnt umber piled into a loose bun. Her pale cheeks were tainted with a deep blush, and a grin adorned her lips.

Vicente didn't reply, instead staring at her with one brow quirked as if to ask, _What did you do? _

"It's not exactly hard to get aboard a pirate vessel." Melantha said with a chuckle. "If you play your cards right, that is."

The vampire smirked, setting down his book and clasping his hands on the pages. "You_ are _determined to make a name for yourself, aren't you, Sister?"

In truth, Melantha hadn't been all too thrilled about joining the Brotherhood, but something drew her toward it. Perhaps it was that momentary rush of pleasure mingled with pure, raw adrenaline she had gotten when she carved her blade into that fur trader.

"In due time, dear Brother." said Melantha as she left, smiling coyly.

The common was nearly empty. Everyone was out on contracts, or just desperate to avoid Antoinetta's cooking. The latter was nowhere to be found either, at least that was what Melantha assumed from the lack of garlic penetrating the air.

"Enjoying the silence, sister?"

Melantha looked up from where she had been tracing indentions in the wood of the common table to find Ocheeva lingering in the doorway. A smile flashed across her face. "Quite."

"It only gets this empty during the spring and the autumn," said the Argonian, taking a seat across from Melantha. The Imperial leaned against the table, her chin propped up on her hand. "It's much more lively in the summer, and especially the winter."

Melantha chuckled, letting her gaze wander in the silence that followed. The furs of the bedrolls lining the walls were tossed about haphazardly and candle stubs sat beside the pillows, puddles of dried wax surrounding it. Other signs of life filled the room, and they were all still like the air.

"I have a contract to get to. Enjoy your night, dear sister."

Ocheeva stood, her chair scraping across the stones shattering the silence. Melantha smiled half-heartedly at her, not moving until the door had closed behind her. Then, the Imperial pulled off the heavy dress she wore and slid into one of the bedrolls, drifting into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

**I apologize for the short chapter and not updating in so long. I had a bit of writer's block, and I've been busy with school and life, etcetera. **

**Au revoir!**


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